


Autoerotic Infatuation

by ironiccowboykink



Series: your faves have a choking kink [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tony Stark the fandom, lmaoo - Fandom, sorry ok - Fandom
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Choking, Choking Kink, Masturbation, Shame, somewhat safe and sane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 04:32:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14804429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironiccowboykink/pseuds/ironiccowboykink
Summary: Tony gets choked a lot. It’s basically canon that he has a kink at this point.





	Autoerotic Infatuation

Contrary to popular belief, Tony is fully capable of admitting when he has a problem. It’s just that he mainly admits it to himself so no one else can lord it over him. There’s also the “dealing with it” section that comes with having a problem. Normally, Tony is great at fixing problems. If they’re mechanical or intellectual in nature it’s best to consider them already solved.

But a problem that drags his pride into it is a problem that will be shoved into a bottle and thrown in the deepest, darkest depths of a metaphorical ocean. The more it might hurt the harder he chucks it. Why deal with anything that might slash his emotions like a car tire more than he has to?

But a problem that drags his life _and_ his pride into the mix is one he can’t just chuck away somewhere, and while Tony is normally all for throwing his life away (let’s be real— if it weren’t for Peter and Pepper Tony would have died in a mysterious accident years ago.), his _pride,_ man. He can’t just let that go. Damn it. It really screws him over sometimes.

Tony sighs, wondering if it’s really worth making such an elaborate contraption just so he can experience the wonderful sensation of nearly passing out while he fists his dick. He probably has a problem. His therapist would tell him he has a problem. His therapist would tell him this isn’t a healthy coping mechanism. 

But, oh, man. It feels _so good._

Tony reviews his machine one more time. It looks too humanoid for his liking, but that prickly feeling of discomfort always propels him towards orgasm a little faster. It’s fucked up. Just like the rest of him.

It’s black, with just enough machinery to be borderline A.I. There’s a glassy screen instead a face that reflects Tony’s own if he looks hard enough, but he likes to close his eyes when he’s wacking off and choking so he imagines that won’t be much of a problem. It resembles a clunky human from head to toe. There’s nothing about it that isn’t disturbingly human. Even without a recognizable face it looks as real as it gets, even though Tony can run his fingers over the bumpy criss-crosses of it’s skin. It’s like… plastic nylon. It’s soft so it won’t irritate Tony’s throat— he won’t admit to himself that’s so it feels like a real human hand— but it looks undeniably plastic. Tony was kind enough to build it something resembling a t-shirt and pants. It’s a black like the rest of it, but since it’s matte and lacks the same shine as the rest of the body it looks like clothing.

Tony also packed its crotch so he can grind down on it. Don’t tell anyone.

He settles into position, breathing already hitching in anticipation. He should really just ask Pepper. He really should. But there’s something about it, about something less than human choking someone who is less than a man…

Tony definitely, definitely has a problem.

He’s ignoring that. He’s ignoring the little voice in his head saying he has a problem as he feeds his vitals into the machine, which he nearly fucks up because his heart is beating so fast. That could have been a disaster.

After taking several ( _excruciating_ ) minutes to calm himself, he resumed his work. Tony eyed the machine. It was reflecting his face, distorted and long and cut in two by a strip of light. He sighed. What’s a man got to do to get a real human hand? Hire someone?

Well, that’s not bad. Tony files that thought away. Maybe he can get a dom and solve all his problems.

“Okay, okay,” Tony says to calm himself, but the excitement bubbling up in his chest as he shifts back on his bedsheets is almost childish in nature. Energy bounces around his body from his head to his toes, making him shake like a leaf as he guides the hand to his throat. “I’m ready for this. God I’m so ready for this,” he mutters. 

Tony can’t get his dick out his pants fast enough. He fumbles for the lube he lost somewhere in the bedsheets, spreads far too much over his fingers and lets it squelch past his fist as he starts to stroke, already semi-hard at the idea of having the recurring fantasy of the last few years fulfilled with no boner-impeding shame. “God,” he moans, frantically pressing the start button on the machine’s forearm, who his brain decided to lovingly name Chokey. 

Chokey does its one job. And it does it _well._ It presses its hand further down Tony’s throat, up against his Adam’s Apple and provides a delicious pressure that makes Tony’s eyes flutter. God, it feels so _good_ — a broken groan stutters it’s way out of Tony’s mouth, following by shuddering hiccups and gasps. He arches his back, pleasure streaking up his spine as he fists his dick, running his thumb over the slit. 

Precum dribbles down his length, mixing with the excessive lube still seeping past his fingers. Tony hissed through his teeth, chest heaving as he struggles for air. Oh, he feels so light headed, but he never stops moving his hand, only strokes himself faster. He scrapes his nails up his cock, relishing in the pain nipping at the pleasure. 

Shame curls like smoke in his belly. What would the other Avengers think if they saw Tony like this, one hand gripping his cock on the right side of too tight and one hand gripping the arm with an ironclad grip on his throat? 

That… that shame, that feeling of being on display like he always has, imagining the others seeing him choke and splutter in a different light— it makes him burn hotter, makes arousal and shame swirl like a witch’s brew inside him. He’s close, so gloriously close, but the world is spinning around him and he has to press the stop button on the bot and suck in great heaving breaths, doubled over spluttering and coughing and his hand grips the base of his dick harder than the bot choked him.

Pain and discomfort nip at his euphoria again and Tony relishes in it, relishes in the chaser to his heady cocktail of euphoria. His throat feels sore. Tony hopes it’ll bruise.

“Again,” he coughs to no one, to a mindless machine. “again.” His voice is throaty and guttural his heart flutters like a hummingbird in his chest as he presses the little start button again, leans in almost affectionately into the thing’s hand. 

Anticipation plucks at his nerve like strings, the echoes of sound that never existed vibrating his bones. Or maybe he’s suffering from the lack of oxygen. Either way, Tony doesn’t mind.

“Yesssss,” He croaks out, feeling so, so close. He’s right there, God, he’s right there— a broken, mangled keen slips out, louder than any noise he thought he could possibly make while strangling. Tony’s free hand roams his body, flying past his his nipples (they were always too sensitive for him to play with nicely) to press to his perineum. Tony moans, full-body shudders as he contemplates fingering himself.

He could do it. He’s so close, and he could do it. There’s enough lube. He could sink his fingers in, knuckle deep, thrust in and out, in and out, in and—

When his fingers brush against his rim, Tony sucks in a mangled, aborted excuse for a breath and in a flash he’s gone, spilling dazedly over his hand. “Off,” He half-croaks, half-gasps, slapping the off button on the robot repeatedly. He still half heartedly pumps his dick, shivering at the sensitivity. Guess he likes that too. Tony strokes his length a few more times, biting his lip as the pleasure borders on pain.

But he’s not as young as he used to be and is decidedly spent. Tony flops back against his sweaty sheets, groaning loudly. It hurts to do so, but he’s focused far more on his extremely apparent shame now that he’s not ready to hump some unsuspecting pillow like a dog. Poor pillow. Poor _Tony._

He wipes his hands off on the sheet. For a moment be contemplates using the bot as his rag, but he’s not that self destructive and also he worked really hard on that, damn it. Far be it from him to fuck it up. 

“So,” he says to the open air, because if he’s talking his discomfort in his throat starts battling with the squeezing feeling in his heart. “that’s a thing that I like.”

The deactivated bot stares. Its silence is unsettling.

“My therapist would say I manifest my issues sexually,” Tony muses. “of course that would imply I even tell her I think about being choked by enemies and former peers. Colleagues. Complications.”

Tony thinks he sees the bot shrug. _Thinks._ Chokey’s silence is judgemental.

“It’s probably trauma.” He mulls the sentence over like wine, and suddenly wishes he had some. It would make this surprisingly sober conversation easier. “I do have a lot of that.”

Tony eyes Chokey. He feels tired, but also like he’s in the middle of poking a fork in a wall outlet. Electrified. There is a subtle buzzing in his extremities, though. That’s probably it. Probably. He’s fine.

“Well, enough of that,” Tony says cheerfully, patting the bed next to him as if Chokey could lay down. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be ready for round two.”

**Author's Note:**

> listen. When fire guy chokes him do you hear that little noise he makes? It’s beautiful. I’m inspired.


End file.
